A Perverted Path to Victory

Mui Thom

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Mage Sevara grimaced as she put the wet silk to her body, scrubbing hard to rub away days worth of accumulated grime. Evie shifted from a crouch to her knees, legs folded beneath her. She looked the mage up and down.

“Have the soldiers charged with your imprisonment assaulted you physically or sexually?”

Mui swallowed a cough. The question, presented with a dead cadence, was insultingly brusque. Yet Evie stared straight at Sevara, awaiting a response.

The mage handled the question better than Mui would have. Her lips twisted into a sneer as she wiped her arms.

“No. But it’s only a matter of time. They joke about it constantly, pretendin’ that the smoke means I can’t hear their shitty comments.”

“But they have not acted on their claims?”

“Like I said— not yet. But they will. And what do you care, anyway?”

“Hm.” Evie reached into the cage and lifted the canteen, gesturing for the mage to have the handkerchief wetted again. Suspicion glittering brightly in her eye, Sevara nonetheless accepted the water. Evie lowered her voice. “This will not be the last time I or one of my wife’s representatives comes to speak to you. Actions will be taken to curb the comments that are being made. If it is not successful, I expect you to tell us.”

“You expect me?” Sevara began to wipe down her neck, where rivulets of ash-laden sweat had left swirling streaks. “What reason do I have to get wrapped up in your politics?”

“Self-interest.”

Sevara chuckled darkly. “I’m a mage captured by traitors. Might as well already be dead. All I’ve got left is to stand strong enough that some god might think I’m worthy enough to end up in their slice of the heavens.”

“While I know that Imperial theology differs from that of my homeland, I doubt the disagreements are so great.” One of Evie’s ears turned about. “Mui. Is what she says a common belief?” He started, straightening. He’d not expected to say a single word. Evie gestured from him to the prisoner without looking away. “Well? Does she speak honestly? Would the gods, as you understand them, covet the coward who pressed their neck to their captor’s knives? Or would they be more interested in the woman who found a way to survive where others could not?”

He cleared his throat, sweat foaming between his shoulderblades. He struggled to recall childhood lessons, rifling through parental lectures he had not thought of since he was a boy.

“I’m not sure how it might apply to all the, ah, complications of this situation. But I at least know that no god honors suicide, ma’am.”

“Hm.” The handkerchief began to dry once more. Evie slid the canteen into the cage and left it there. “Much as I expected. Mage Sevara, if your place in the afterlife is truly your only remaining mortal concern, you would be much incentivized to cooperate. On behalf of the Chosen of the Pantheon of Emotion, I am offering you an opportunity to preserve your life. What better way to scorn cowardice than by earning the favor of an entire Pantheon?”

The mage’s face twisted as if she had swallowed something bitter. She considered her words for a time, a silent minute or so that Evie waited patiently through.

“I’m not going to betray anyone. I don’t want the favor of any god who’d love me for that.” Mui made a small noise, impressed. Sevara had a backbone, it was clear. She met Evie’s gaze sharply. “I want to know what you want from me. What you’re trying to get me to do for you. If I’m going to fuck myself over getting your faction’s protection, I need to know at least that much.”

Hidden behind her back, Mui watched Evie’s tail flick with satisfaction.

“My wife’s objective is simple enough that I doubt you will believe me. She has been championing humane treatment of war prisoners, and you are to be her example. By convincing your captors to provide you with amenities such as clean clothing, regular meals, avoidance of torture, and other minutia, we expect to earn your cooperation. While we’d certainly welcome you sharing any critical war information, we only expect you to forgo any escape attempts.”

Mage Sevara, now working to wipe down her legs, had a strange reaction to the offer. She laughed cynically and shook her head, highly amused.

“Guess all the rumors flying around the Chosen are true. She really is a child, isn’t she?”

Mui’s whiskers twitched, his legs tensing. He half-expected Evie to lunge for the woman’s throat in response to the insult levied at Sara. She didn’t. She merely cocked her head, ears fluttering.

“A child, you say?”

“Yes,” Sevara quickly answered. “Immature and naive, like all the histories say Chosens usually are. Or stat like, anyway. When we first heard that the Chosen wasn’t some fifteen or sixteen year old, like the gods usually favor, a lot of people were worried. We thought she might be more of a threat. But she isn’t, is she?”

With each word spoken, Evie’s tail slowed. Fur standing on end, Mui took a step forward, spitting harsh, rapid syllables.

“Even raised with rebels, were you not taught to honor those the gods favor, woman? Do not insult the Chosen in front of her wife again.”

“On the contrary,” Evie purred, pushing Mui back, “I am very interested to hear more. You said ‘we,’ yes? Who are you referring to?”

He tsked. Ignoring his warning and emboldened by Evie’s encouragement, Sevara’s words grew harsher.

“The other mages, of course. Learning the enemy got themselves a Chosen was awful news, especially one who was already grown, both in age and her time in this world. But what’s she done since? Pissed around with a dawdling army, half-playing at politics like a child dipping their toe into cold water. And now you’re telling me she’s wasting her time making sure her enemies are being treated better?” With her lungs not quite recovered, Mage Sevara hacked an ugly cackle. After taking a moment to recover her breath, she acknowledged Mui with a nod.

“You warned me that I shouldn’t insult my imprisoner’s wife. That’s good advice. So I won’t say what I think of her actions. Only that you,” she nodded at Evie, “were right to say that I’ve got something to win here. I won’t betray any secrets, mind, but I’ll certainly accept better treatment. If your only term is that I don’t attempt an escape, you’ve got my word. I saw what those firearms of yours did to my friends. I’m not stupid enough to try anything that will see me shot.”

She dipped the handkerchief beneath her shirt, beginning to swipe at the worst of her filth. The white silk came away black. Mui winced on Evie’s behalf. She didn’t seem bothered by the treatment of the enchanted silk, but it was a rather unglamorous use of a gift given by one’s wife. Evie only smiled politely, unfolding her legs to stand.

“Excellent. My wife will meet with you at some point to determine the honesty of your agreement, of course, but I see no reason to not begin acting on your word now. In the interim, I will use what influence I have to protect you.” Evie snapped her fingers. The handkerchief vanished from Sevara’s grasp and appeared in Evie’s pinched hand with a shimmering flash, absent all grime. She folded and slipped it into a pocket. “One final point, then. You said you would not betray your people, and I will not push the matter. But while you are imprisoned, if you happen to overhear something you might think is relevant to our ‘faction’, would you be willing to share it?”

Sevara considered it. “Not for free,” she decided. “Since you’re already bribing me to just sit here and keep quiet, if I end up with something else you want, you’ll have to sweeten the deal.”

“Of course. Favors for favors.” Evie bowed her head respectfully. “Have a pleasant evening, Mage Sevara. I doubt we will ever speak again, but do respond to any letters that might be delivered to your cell.”

The mage shook her head, plainly amused. “Of course. It’ll be interesting to see what this type of Chosen has planned for me.”

“Not much. You’re not very important.”

With that, Evie began to walk out of the tent. Mui went to follow, but hesitated. As Evie slipped through the flap, he was struck by a peculiar burst of sympathy. He cast one last look over his shoulder.

“A word of advice, mage. Sara is not naive. Whatever you do, whatever you try, never think that.”

The woman’s brows furrowed. She opened her mouth to speak, but Mui was already slipping from the tent.

He found himself blinking in the light. The morning rains had finished their dreary assault, and the army was beginning to pack up and prepare for the march. Amidst the rising clamor of activity, Mui saw Mayaran striding away, forcing any in her path to make way.

Evie set off after her. He caught up to her quickly, speaking low.

“I’m surprised you weren’t more angry at that mage insulting Sara.”

“Why would I be? There’s few things more pleasing than knowing an enemy is making a mistake. They are free to underestimate Sara all they like.”

“Does it not bother you to know that others think similarly, though?”

Evie shot him a quick glance, one eyebrow quirked. “Even if it did, what would snapping at some common mage achieve? When I told that woman she didn’t matter, I wasn’t lying.”

“If she’s really that unimportant, you’re expending an awful lot of effort on her.”

“Politics, Mui.” Evie slid past a soldier who was crossing their path, ducking under the tent poles that the woman had stacked atop a shoulder. “A soldier’s metaphor for you: Mage Sevara is not the objective. She is the battlefield.”

He ducked past the same oblivious soldier and spoke even quieter, barely a whisper, trusting her uncanny hearing to pick it out over the clamor. “If the prisoner isn’t the objective, what is?”

Evie’s tail flicked hard, a coquettish swat grazing his knee. Though he couldn’t see her face, he could hear her grin. “Let us see if you can figure it out, Sergeant.” She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Honored Elven Mayaran!”

The robed figure up ahead came to a stop, rolling shoulders and clenched fingers radiating irritation. Turning around, Mage Mayaran smiled bitterly at Evie.

“Ah, Commander. Done with your interrogation so soon?”

Evie jogged the last few yards, nodding respectfully as she came to a stop. “That I did. I must commend your reputation, Honored Elven. She was so terrified of your interrogation that she easily spilled her secrets to me. I barely lifted a finger.”

“I see.” Mage Mayaran crossed her arms, hands disappearing within the wide loops of her robe. “And what did you learn?”

Evie’s expression fell. “Terribly little of use, I’m afraid. It was mostly confirmation of what we already knew. The enemy army is marching south with an intent to break out onto the open plains, where they will unite and march rapidly eastward. It seems the enemy’s ultimate objective, be it Tulian or otherwise, is not being shared with commoners, even mages such as her.”

“Of course,” Mage Mayaran sniffed. “The prisoner has proved exactly as useful a resource as I anticipated. Your wife must be so proud of her capture.”

“Hardly,” Evie replied, sniffing with equal disdain. “Enemies have a frustrating habit of surrendering preemptively when Sara faces them. Handling such a large volume of prisoners in the midst of an ongoing battle can be frustrating.”

“I see.” A few moments passed as Mage Mayaran tapped her foot. “Well? Is that all you have to report to me?”

“Regarding the prisoner? Yes. You are now free to interrogate them at your leisure.”

The elf rolled her eyes. “Of course. How gracious of you, Commander.”

Evie sketched a half-bow, turning her face toward the soil. Behind her, visible only to Mui, her tail writhed with impish delight.

“In addition, I have spoken with my wives regarding the… incident… at the other day’s meeting. After a productive discussion focused on the errors I made that day, I would like to clear the air.”

“Oh?” Mage Mayaran licked her lips hungrily. “Could that be an apology waiting behind your fangs? Such grace was not something I expected from a lesser race.”

Evie straightened, clearing her throat. With great effort, Mui managed to fight down the urge to grab a shield and take shelter.

“While your effort to antagonize me by drawing Sergeant Mui Thom into the discussion was successful, seeing as I reacted with disproportionate anger, appropriate measures have been taken to ensure a similar event does not happen again. Per General Borek’s request, I will offer you a formal apology, but this will be sent in written form only. No public apology will be offered.”

Mage Mayaran blinked several times. “How… direct. Most simply tender the apology and wash their hands of the matter, not discuss the terms of it like some beggar merchant. It makes it hard to be assured of your genuineness. After such a failure, are you sure you wish to antagonize me even further?”

“Quite sure, as a matter of fact.”

Though no wind blew, Mayaran’s robes rippled.

“I… see…” she ground out between gritted teeth. “Then we have reached no accommodation at all, have we?”

“Of course not. Why would you ever think we would?” Evie shook her head as if bemused by a child’s antics. “I am married to the Chosen of Emotion. When I told her what occurred, her response was simple: ‘don’t worry about it, I’ll deal with her when I get back.’” Evie chuckled. “A Divine Champion told me she is going to ‘deal with you.’ With an assurance like that, what should I ever have to fear from you?”

Mayaran scowled. “That woman is obsessed with pursuing her own worst interests. Why she would make an enemy of me I cannot fathom.”

“Neither can we,” Evie frankly stated. “Why have you set yourself against our cause, Mage Mayaran? We haven’t been able to determine any true reason. You are a pure-blooded elf whose family is barely involved with matters of the mortal Imperial realm, and you seem to care little for what precious few ideological differences exist between the warring Imperial factions. By all accounts, your involvement with the war was extremely minimal until Sara presented herself.” Evie touched a finger to her cheek thoughtfully. “You’re not a Cultist of the Tenth God, are you? Seeking to oppose Sara because that is your duty?”

Like a griffon readying to fight, Mayaran’s robes began to twist and rise, voluminous wind billowing up from below. Her eyes flashed crimson, dagger eartips flushing with blood.

“Do not dare accuse me of serving some hidden society. I am a mage, woman. My loyalty lies with the god you call Talavan, and it will not be questioned!”

“Of course, of course,” Evie agreed. “I didn’t truly suspect you were, of course. There’s nothing you could hide from Sara. Save, apparently, for your motivation.”

Others in the camp had begun to take notice of the confrontation. Work slowed as soldiers began to gawk and whisper, the rare presence of an Honored Elven multiplied by the display of her power. Mui desperately wished they would recognize the moment as the threat it was, but they were soldiers on the march. Danger was a welcome distraction to boredom.

“You cannot possibly believe I would tell you my aims, woman,” Mage Mayaran snapped. “You have no claim to see the slightest sliver of my respect, unlike the Chosen. You are just another helpless toy she has collected on her journey.”

“A toy?” Evie’s head and ears tilted. “Maybe. I suppose you could call me a toy in some ways. I certainly serve in the capacity of bringing her pleasure and joy. But helpless?”

Evie’s stance shifted. Her hips twisted to let her weight settle low, one hand drifting to rest against her waist. A casual, relaxed posture, common enough to stand in. If it weren’t for the way it put a pair of pistols mere inches from her fingertips.

“No,” Evie purred. “No, I am not helpless. After a youth spent being groomed for courtyards and ballrooms, it’s an odd feeling to acknowledge the fact that I have become, in the end…” Her fingers slid down, just barely grazing the wooden pommel of a pistol, feline fangs flashing from her rictus grin, “Something of a brute.”

Mui prepared to drop to the dirt. If the women began to trade blows in earnest, he would be cut through as easily as a blade of grass. Watching Mage Mayaran’s robes fill with spellborne wind, even the onlookers seemed to be grasping the severity of the situation. Many began abandoning their work and scattering, while others, more foolish by far, began to ready weapons. To his shock, he saw at least one tall figure moving against the fleeing crowd, as if eager for a look. He couldn’t fathom that. It seemed all the air in the world had been snatched away, leaving Mui’s lungs frozen in his chest.

“A threat?” Hissed Mayaran. “You? Threatening me?”

“To a degree, I suppose.” Dark, slitted pupils flicked up and down the mage’s body. “You correctly identified that my Master was keeping her companions isolated from politics— and then you broke that isolation. What did you expect, elf? That there wouldn’t be consequences for it?” Evie laughed, a high, piercing note that forestalled any reply. “No. No, if that was what you hoped for, I’m afraid to say that there had to be some response, and now it’s here.”

Mage Mayaran sneered. “You came here to offer childish insults and petty threats?”

“Yes. And haven’t they worked so well? Your maneuvering to embarrass me in public was admirable enough to be worth applauding, so imagine my surprise in this very moment, seeing for myself how little it would take to get a rise out of you. A hundred and fifty years of life, and all I needed was a poor apology and some hamfisted jabs? How insecure are you, woman?”

“You-!” Elven eyes burned bright, but Evie wasn’t done. Her rising laugh bowled right over Mayaran’s next words, a rich, enchanting amusement welling up with every word.

“I mean, truly! It’s shocking! I spent all this time wondering at your motivations, trying to pick apart your reasoning so I may better predict it, and all it took was this? All it took to get you as predictable as an angry goat were these two-bit little insults? It’s no wonder my wife takes such delight in crassness around you people! It’s so easy I could laugh! I am laughing!”

Mayaran stilled, coming to the same conclusion Mui had in nearly the same moment. He could see the realization ripple through her with every syllable: that this was a trap, that she had been unknowingly nibbling at bait after bait until she had one hand reaching into a snare, too incensed to notice that she was being led exactly where Evie wanted. The Mage began to calm herself with every breath, the ill wind falling.

“And to think,” Evie cackled. Her hand abandoned her waist, rising quickly to the rifle strapped to her back, “when she knew it was this much fun, Sara warned me against it. And for the first time in my life, I can’t wait to disobey her!”

One slow, titanic thump of Mui’s heart sounded in his ears.

It sent ice sweeping down his veins.

He lunged forward, clamping both palms and all his fingers around Evie’s wrist, his claws digging bloody pinpricks into her flesh. In response to his sudden motion, Mayaran leapt back, two quick flicks of hidden hands summoning a shield before herself.

Mui ignored her. His focus was singular. He moved around Evie as her hand continued to grind inexorably upward, even as he fought and swore.

“Evie!” He hissed. “Evie, do not!”

“Why shouldn’t I?” She whispered back. Her feral grin was unchanged, even as Mui used all his strength to fight against her single arm.

“She is an elf, Evie! I know your people do not believe it, but think of your allies! To them she is a child of the gods, her very existence an honored blessing!”

“Oh, how excellent!” Evie all but laughed. “I’ve killed many things, but never a demigod! What a novelty.”

Mui twisted his stance to give himself better leverage, boots digging trenches in the mud as he tried to pull Evie’s hand back down. It was nearing that musket, the Hurlish-smithed weapon that, as far as he knew, no living being had ever seen her fire. It was a losing battle. She’d told him her Class focused on finesse, not strength, but her Levels were still three times his own. Even with all his body thrown against her, it was a shock that he could, just barely, restrict the movement of her single arm.

A voice pierced through the roaring blood in his ears. “If I were you, Sergeant, I’d save yourself the effort. And your life. Let her try, why don’t you?”

He looked to the voice. It was Mayaran, wrapped in a shattered rainbow of defensive spells. Layers of glassy protection spells broke her figure into indistinct shards, each too large or too small to possibly fit next to their fellows, yet they each connected at just the right angle to make the piece whole. He could see her half-hidden form behind, as broken as her shields, shimmering power vibrating in aching waves. Looking at the impossible construct felt as if a burning knife had slipped beneath his eye, sawing back and forth with every attempt of his mind to parse its impossibilities. He had to tear his sight away.

“Evie,” he begged. “Evie, the only disaster worse than you losing this fight is the reckoning that will come when you win!”

“So you think,” she hissed. “But there is only one way to tell, is there not?”

Mui knew then that words were going to be of no use. He grunted with effort, pausing to square himself to Evie’s front so all his force could be applied down, keeping her hand in place. Mayaran shouted something again, but this time he couldn’t understand it, not over the blood roaring ever louder in his skull.

Evie laughed again.

Not like this, he prayed. Please, gods, of all the places, not here.

The moment, barely more than a few seconds, seemed to stretch for hours. He wished he knew what had possessed him to try and stop it. Instinct, perhaps, seemed the most reasonable answer. Self-preservation. The moment he’d seen that anger welling up in Evie, he knew that all the other duels he’d seen from her, even when she’d challenged Mayaran, had been nothing more than play. And so he’d been driven by the same instincts, the same desire for survival, that told birds to take flight in the moments before the land itself began to crumble and dissolve. All he had left now was to pray. And pray he did.

It was not a god that answered him. For Evie, it was someone far more important.

Without warning, the steel limb in his hands went limp. Suddenly lacking the resistance that had been keeping him standing, he fell forward face-first, snout thumping ingloriously into the packed soil. Pain rattled his skull as he impacted, causing him to grunt. He was rolling over an instant later, blinking away the brief eye-watering pain as he tried to regain his bearings, panic still filling him.

Like a great cloud blocking the sun, a shadow had fallen across him. That cloud, despite being closer than most, seemed larger by far. It took a moment before his vision cleared enough to reveal why. It was Hurlish of Tulian, her thick fingers pressing down on Evie’s shoulder.

“Thought you were taking too long,” Hurlish rumbled. With unmatched might she pulled Evie up against her, tucking the malevolent creature into an affectionate side-hug. “Come on. Tahn’s gonna be waking up soon, and it’s your turn to take care of him.”

It seemed no one in a hundred yards save Hurlish was moving. Mui scrambled a few feet further from Evie, chest heaving, trying to gauge what had happened.

Across the field, Mayaran’s shielded form still seethed. Pinks, blues, and reds formed the crystalline sphere containing the furious Elf. He could look at it for even less time before his eyes started aching. He winced as he forced his vision away.

The rest of the camp had reacted… predictably. There was the scent of sulfur in the air, suggesting someone had fired a weapon, though he could see no lingering cloud of blackpowder smoke. Those who had already been retreating had broken into a sprint, shouting and shoving at one another, while those who had been readying themselves to fight…

Were nowhere to be seen. At first. It was only once Mui looked down that he found them, hiding in curled balls between piles of half-packed equipment. They began to lift their heads as he watched, wide eyes snapping open and darting left and right before finally moving downward, widening as they looked downward at their own bodies, as if finally realizing that they’d dropped to take cover. Instinct had taken them over, too.

“Mui, you coming?” Hurlish extended a hand. He… he was still on the ground, he realized. Still trembling somewhat, he took it, and despite spending so long around Hurlish, he was still startled by the speed and ease with which he found himself on his feet. “There we go. You good? Alright, good.” Hurlish gave him a pat on his back, then scowled, using his shoulder to wipe off the mud she’d just inadvertently collected on her palm. Then she made a limp, finger-flicking go-away gesture at Mayaran. “Sorry about interruptin’. Dunno if that makes me the type of wife people like to bitch about, gettin’ in the way of everything or whatever, but eh.” She shrugged. “Too bad. Evie’s supposed to help me n’ the kids pack up the forge, and I’m not going to do that on my own. If you really need her, you can talk while we walk.”

Mui looked to Evie. Now that he was standing behind the wives, he could see that Hurlish’s hand on her shoulder was spread wide, enough so that the smith’s thumb could reach up to Evie’s neck, the single digit stroking and petting down in a slow, calming motion, each journey tracking the dimensions of her tattooed collar.

Evie took a deep breath. Then her tail fell limply from its coil, wrapping instead around Hurlish’s leg as the woman let her weight rest against her wife’s sturdy shoulder.

He risked a glance at Mayaran. One by one, piece by piece, her shield was disappearing. Through the shattered glass, he thought, though he could never be sure, he might have been able to see some kind of… astonishment on her face. Astonishment that Hurlish, not even a soldier, nothing more than a lowly blacksmith, had placed herself in this arena.

Hurlish put her back to the elf. As she was dragged along by the motion, Evie glanced up at her, whispering.

“What made you come over?”

“Hm? Oh.” She gave Evie’s shoulder a squeeze. “That old elf bitch showed up, hollering her head off. Only way I could get her to shut up was to go find you.” Hurlish chuckled. “And besides, it really is your turn with Tahn. I didn’t want to leave him with just the guards while I helped pack up the forge.”

Evie straightened. Every trace of her earlier demeanor, of the bubbling fury and cackling madness, vanished, consumed by something far, far greater:

Parental indignation.

“You left him with only the guards?”

Hurlish blanched. “Yeah, but-”

“What if he woke up and was hungry?”

“They’ve got the bottles-”

“You know they shouldn’t have to do that, Hurlish!” Evie scolded, her tail giving the woman a swat on the rump. “Let me go. We should hurry back.”

Hurlish lifted her thick arm, the bicep of which was nearly the size of her wife’s torso. Evie emerged into the open air, setting off a ripple of flinches through the camp, but there was no need. The Feline woman simply hooked her claws into the back of Hurlish’s shirt and climbed up, until she could perch herself atop the smith’s shoulders.

Behind him, a new instinct rose. The sensation of someone staring at him, but far more physical than that vague notion. Twin needles of burning heat swept across him like a physical force, scalding his skin. Mayaran. The remnants of her spellcraft setting his hair on end.

He didn’t look back. He… he didn’t want to. He didn’t have the energy, not anymore. His limbs were abruptly leaden, choking his will to do anything at all, much less risk confronting a powerful Mage. What had Sara called it again? The ‘adrenaline dump’ that came after a battle? Yes, that must be what this was.

On unsteady legs and with watery bowels, he hurried to catch up with Hurlish. She and Evie began to chat as they walked.

He did not join in.

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